


To See With Better Eyes

by SerPaladuck



Category: Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Asunder - Fandom, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Character Study, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-19
Updated: 2015-05-19
Packaged: 2018-03-31 08:11:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3970522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SerPaladuck/pseuds/SerPaladuck
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cassandra Pentaghast is away from Val Royeaux when she learns of a conspiracy against the Divine and a violent uprising at the White Spire circle of magi. When she returns to find what lies behind these events, she is faced with confronting the truth about the order she serves and making a decision that could brand her a traitor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To See With Better Eyes

 

_Umbralis, 9:39 Dragon  
The Imperial Highway near Lydes_

 

Cassandra shivered despite her thick winter cloak as the biting wind from off the Waking Sea sliced across her flesh, abrading her cheeks like thousands of tiny knives. The winter sun, low in the sky, did little to contribute any warmth and its reflection off the half-frozen puddles in the road was just giving her a headache which did little to soothe her sour mood. She supposed she should at least count her blessings that the previous day’s snowfall had stopped, offering the prospect of making good progress today.  With every day that passed she grew more anxious, more concerned at the wild rumours that were spreading of events in Val Royeaux during her absence, of attempts on the Divine’s life, and violent unrest at the Circle of Magi at the White Spire.

Cassandra did not like to be helpless or powerless, and it both frightened and frustrated her beyond measure to think of the Divine potentially in danger while she was here, wasting her time on a fool’s errand, and risking frostbite to boot. With every stride of her sure-footed mare on the near-deserted highway, Cassandra’s anger simmered ever higher. Divine Justinia V had dispatched her to the Circle of Magi in Ferelden on a supposedly urgent matter requiring her personal attention, but she had made the long journey from Val Royeaux only to find that this ‘urgent mission’ consisted of nothing more than interviewing a seemingly never-ending list of mages and documenting their petty grievances. She had been entrusted with many similar assignments in the years since Divine Justinia’s ascension, investigating unduly harsh restrictions placed on the denizens of certain Circles, or reports of beatings and abuse, all the while gathering evidence to support the Divine’s attempts to bring reform, but what she had encountered here was nothing of the sort. One mage had even wasted several hours of her time complaining about the colour of the Enchanter’s robes, and it was something of a small miracle he hadn’t become a further addition to the list of those suffering mysterious injuries.

As if her patience had not been tried to the limit already by this seemingly nonsensical task, the shocking news had come from Val Royeaux of an attempt on the Divine’s life, finally giving Cassandra the excuse to cut short the interviews and return at once to Orlais to protect her charge. She had ridden out the same day, but the poor weather as autumn gave way to winter had made her return journey a frustratingly slow one, the roads either thick with snow or icy, both treacherous underfoot for her mount, and the gales and severe weather made passage by ship impossible. With more time to think came more time to mull over the reasons for her presence in Ferelden, and given that she was a Seeker, trained to be suspicious, to look past the obvious explanations and uncover conspiracies, Cassandra had found herself worrying over and over about the coincidence of her absence from Val Royeaux just as chaos had erupted. The orders had been given to her by Most Holy in person, so there was no possibility of them having been intercepted, but there had been no details given to her of the task she was to undertake. Could the Divine have been misled by someone she trusted in the Chantry into sending her Right Hand away, believing the nature of Cassandra’s mission to be something other than it had turned out to be? The only other possibility was that Justinia herself had chosen to send Cassandra away, to keep her at arm’s length, and the Seeker was not sure which she found more troubling. The uncertainty sat heavily in her gut, acid doubt burning in her stomach.

She was not naïve, she knew there were things that Justinia kept from her, things that she did not need (or wish) to know. There was a reason a Divine had two Hands, and for the most part Cassandra was content to let Leliana tend to those matters that fell outside her own sphere of knowledge and influence, or went against her personal morality. However it was one thing to be aware that Leliana undertook duties for Justinia that she herself could or would not do and to choose not to enquire too deeply about them, and quite another to be misled in this way. She had served the current Divine faithfully for six years now, and the previous Divine for twelve, and had thought that devotion would have earned Justinia’s trust and confidence. Perhaps it was childish and shallow, but the thought that she could have been deliberately sent away to allow Justinia and Leliana free reign to weave their plots _hurt._

Cassandra might have almost preferred the other possibility, of a traitor within Justinia’s inner circle, but she had painful personal experience of how deep such conspiracies could go, and what could be the cost. A Lord Seeker, a fine, upstanding servant of the Chantry, stabbed in the back by a man who he had considered his brother in service. A fellow Seeker, a mentor, a father in all but name, cut down by blood mages, all in the cause of furthering blind ambition.

_Byron… I miss you._

Cassandra pushed regret away with an effort of will to focus on her surroundings, realising she was approaching a crossroads in the highway. The port where she might find a ship to take her by a more direct route to Val Royeaux lay on the coast, a few miles north, but by her reckoning she was too late to catch the evening tide and she had more chance of finding suitable accommodation for the night in the town of Lydes itself. As if on cue her stomach reminded her that it had been quite some time since her morning meal, some dry biscuits and fruit eaten on the move, and her horse was certainly in need of a little respite. She had driven her mount hard all day and steam rose from the mare’s flanks in the frigid air. Her mind made up, she slowed to a gentle trot, keeping an eye out for a suitable inn.

It was not uncommon for Seekers to be out in the field and away from more usual means of contact for extended periods and thus the nearest Chantry was often used to pass messages. When Cassandra saw the large stone building with the sunburst eye upon the door, it was a long ingrained habit that made her dismount and enter to enquire of the nearest Sister if any messages had been left for her.  Perhaps she hoped to hear something from Leliana or even Justinia herself, some reassurance that the attack had not been as serious as the stories she had heard had made out, but when the Sister returned she was surprised to see that she held a letter bearing the flame-wreathed eye of her own order.

Distractedly thanking the Sister, she sank into the nearest bench, eyeing the letter with the sort of extravagant care and studied distaste she usually reserved for something that might bite. It bore the personal seal of the Lord Seeker himself, and at this moment in time Cassandra could imagine no particularly pleasant reason why the Lord Seeker would send her a communication while away from Val Royeaux. Sighing and berating herself for her hesitation, she broke the seal and scanned the missive. It was brief and to the point as she might have expected, Lord Seeker Lambert had never been a man to use ten words where five would suffice.

 

_Seeker Pentaghast,_

_I trust this message reaches you in good health. Please come to Montsimmard before you return to Val Royeaux, there are matters I must discuss with you as a matter of urgency._

_In faith,_

_Lord Seeker Lambert van Reeves_

 

Cassandra folded up the letter and carefully stashed it away in an inner pocket of her tunic. It was far too much of a coincidence to believe that the Lord Seeker’s summons and the rumoured events in Val Royeaux were not connected. In recent years, as the shape and scope of Justinia’s vision for the future of the Chantry had begun to emerge, Cassandra had found her duties as Right Hand bringing her increasingly into conflict with her fellow Seekers of Truth. The Seekers were supposed to protect the Chantry from threats both within and without, to oversee both mages and Templars alike with neither preference nor prejudice, but all too often Cassandra found herself frustrated by what seemed to her an obsession with controlling mages at the expense of everything else. Not only was it counter-productive, for the more restrictions were placed on the freedoms of mages the harder they chafed under them and agitated for change, but it went against so many of the principles of the faith that was supposed to underpin their duty. Those blessed (or cursed) with magic talent were still the Maker’s children, and protecting them from possession and the harmful consequences of their abilities was a sacred charge, not a license to abuse.

Perhaps it was easier for her to see how her comrades had strayed from the path that had been intended for them because she herself had had to struggle so hard to remain true to it. When she had first joined the Seekers she had been driven by anger and rage, a coruscating fire that at times she feared would choke the breath from her lungs. She had hungered only for revenge against the blood mages who had taken that which she held dearest in all the world from her. It had taken a mage, working with her to foil a conspiracy against the Divine, to help her see that she could not judge someone just by whether they wore robes or the armour of a Templar, that there were mages just as devoted to the Maker as any Seeker or Revered Mother.

The thought of Galyan made guilt twist leadenly in her stomach and flush warmth against her cheeks. With the attack on the Divine, she had been so preoccupied with the threats to Justinia that she had not given much thought to the tales of unrest at the White Spire. Dear sweet Galyan… he was the gentlest man she had ever met, and combat magic had never been his area of expertise. She supposed that had been one of the things that had helped her to trust him, his devotion to healing and to helping others. The thought that Galyan, so loyal to the Circle and to the Divine, could be in danger only sharpened her misery and her frustration at being so far away.

She returned her attention to the Lord Seeker’s letter, cursing her wandering thoughts and the shame that now sat heavily upon her shoulders. The temptation to ignore it and return to Val Royeaux immediately was strong, but Cassandra had learned from working alongside Leliana. The instruction to go directly to Montsimmard implied he wished to give her some instruction or impart some information before either could be countermanded or contradicted by Divine Justinia. Of course, she could argue that her duty to the Divine superseded that to the Lord Seeker, but perhaps she could serve Most Holy better by understanding what the Lord Seeker wanted.  It would only add a few days to her return journey, and might better equip her to face whatever awaited her back in Val Royeaux.

Her mind made up, she allowed the familiar scents of incense and candle wax to soothe her mind, rising from the bench to kneel before the statue of Andraste. Prayer was ever a balm to her troubled soul, and it would avail her now.

 

_O Maker, hear my cry:_

_Guide me through the blackest nights_

_Steel my heart against the temptations of the wicked_

_Make me to rest in the warmest places._

_O Creator, see me kneel:_

_For I walk only where You would bid me_

_Stand only in places You have blessed_

_Sing only the words You place in my throat_

 

This evening the Sisters were chanting from Transfigurations, a verse that seemed particularly apt to her current impasse, as the familiar words of the canticle rose into the air she was transported back in time and place, to memories of a deep voice singing beside her, one that guided and inspired, gently chastened but was never raised in anger.

 

_Byron, old friend… what would you counsel me now?_

  

. . . . . . . . . .

 

It had been many years since Cassandra had set foot in the Seeker fortress of Montsimmard, and yet she still felt a warm rush of familiarity as she entered the main castle. She had spent a third of her childhood here, and although the training had been relentless and at times brutal, they had been happy years for the most part. Perhaps it had just been relief at escaping from the suffocating, lonely existence she had known in Nevarra, but she had for the first time known companionship other than that of her long-lost brother, had found, in her mentor Byron, something close to the father she had never really known. Those years had been hard, there had scarcely been a day when she hadn’t gone to bed totally exhausted, often bruised and battered, but at the same time she had found a purpose to her life and a joy in duty and service that she had not expected.

Although the environment itself had not changed, nor had the daily routines, the atmosphere was somewhat different from that Cassandra remembered. Lord Seeker Aldren had been a familiar presence when she had been an apprentice Seeker, often to be found watching with paternal pride as the trainees sparred in the yard, or joining them in devotions in the chapel, and the first face she remembered seeing when she awoke from the meditative trance that she had fallen into during her long Vigil. He had overseen his charges with a gentle hand and a kind word, inspiring by example rather than fear. Lord Seeker Lambert was a very different man, cold and aloof, who rarely had much personal contact with the rank and file Seekers and enforced his command with a stern countenance and an iron will. Cassandra had never quite felt at ease with him in the same way as she had his predecessor, although she struggled to put her finger on the exact reasons for her disquiet.

That unease she often felt in her superior’s company was definitely present when she was finally ushered into his office. The Lord Seeker was in full armour, his dark plate shined almost to a mirror finish, and his sword hung at his hip, as black as night and as sharp as the Maker’s wrath. Lambert van Reeves was an imposing figure, tall and powerfully built, his short-cropped steel grey hair giving him a purposeful, military bearing. It was his eyes that often disconcerted Cassandra, gleaming with an almost unholy zeal, and that burning gaze rested upon her with full force as she greeted him respectfully, assessing, measuring, judging.

“It has been quite some time since you were last here, has it not? I regret we do not see more of you Cassandra, but Most Holy keeps you very busy it would seem.”

“Yes, Lord Seeker, my duties for Her Perfection have been quite extensive of late,” Cassandra answered neutrally, trying to discern the shape of the conversation before she blundered blindly into it.

“I imagine they must be, for her to send you so far away at a time like this. I’m sure you must have heard something of recent events on your travels.”

“I have heard some things, yes. That there was an attempt on Most Holy’s life, which was thwarted only by one of the Templars from the White Spire – there will be hell to pay for the Knight Divine – and that subsequently there was some sort of revolt at the mage circle and that several First Enchanters were slain and the mages destroyed their phylacteries and escaped.” Cassandra frowned slightly. “It was not explained why the First Enchanters were there in the first place, but then such tales often grow wild in the telling, and I was not sure what to believe.” After the way her part in the Day of Dragons had become distorted over the years, she of all people knew not to take all stories at face value, knew the way the plain facts became embroided into tavern tales that became wild legends. “But tell me Lord Seeker, Most Holy she is safe, yes?”

Lambert smiled mirthlessly. “Oh, she was perfectly well when we parted two days ago, I assure you.” He rose from his chair and paced over to the window, staring out for a moment, before he turned back, his hand reflexively dropping to the pommel of his sword. “The truth is actually somewhat worse than the tales, Cassandra. I was glad to discover you were not at Most Holy’s side, otherwise I might have had to consider the possibility that you were involved in events that even now I find astonishing-“

“Lord Seeker, perhaps you should explain from the beginning?” Cassandra took the risk of interrupting, sensing that Lambert was about to launch into a tirade. That he was against Divine Justinia and her reforms was nothing new, but he appeared genuinely angry, above his usual barely veiled frustration.

With a heavy sigh, Lambert dropped back into his chair. “We had been hearing reports of strange events in the White Spire circle for some time, a series of murders which the Knight-Commander had been unable to solve, so we had our eyes upon the Circle more closely than usual. A mage from the circle, an Enchanter Jeannot, was behind the attempt on the Divine’s life, which was indeed prevented by one of the Templars. In response to this latest failing, I dismissed the Knight-Commander and took personal charge of the garrison there, to determine if the events were linked and if Enchanter Jeannot had any other conspirators among the Circle.”

Cassandra’s brows knitted together as she considered this. It was not without precedent for a Seeker to assume command of a Templar garrison when required, but unusual for the Lord Seeker himself to intervene in such a way. Of course, the fact that the Divine was being threatened was itself extraordinary circumstances, so she supposed the situation merited Lambert’s involvement.

“My investigation into the murders pointed to one of the enchanters there by the name of Rhys.” Lambert continued. “We had him imprisoned and interrogated, but before we could determine if he was also involved in the conspiracy to murder the Divine, I received a most unusual request to free him, which came directly from Justinia herself.”

“I have never heard her mention this mage,” Cassandra replied thoughtfully, her mind whirling with the implications. “If you had not linked him to the conspiracy against Most Holy, why would she get involved?”

“It seems Her Perfection has been playing a rather long game,” Lambert grunted. “It would appear she commissioned a Tranquil to conduct research into the possibility of reversing the Rite of Tranquility, without consulting or even informing the Seekers of Truth. She requested the mage be freed to assist in determining the fate of this Tranquil, believing him to have become possessed.”

Cassandra schooled her features into a mask of blandness, knowing that deception was not her strong suit. When Justinia had first begun the project, the research had been a major bone of contention between herself on one side, and the Divine and Leliana on the other. While she was sympathetic to the plight of mages, and appalled at the abuses of the Rite she had personally investigated, she had always considered it a necessary evil, a tool that must sometimes be used to keep others safe from mages unable to control their abilities. While in her work for the Seekers she had seen plenty of cases where mages had been oppressed and abused, she had also seen the other side of the coin, the sometimes fatal consequences of untutored magic, the terrifying reality of possession and the horrors of blood magic. If some other way of protecting mages from possession could be found, she would gladly see its use abandoned, but until then… she had warned Justinia that if a cure could indeed be found, the knowledge was dangerous, and that its release would have to be very carefully controlled to avoid igniting a new conflict between mages and Templars. That had been some time ago, long before a renegade mage had blown up the Kirkwall chantry and set them all teetering on the brink of all-out rebellion. That the Lord Seeker had become aware of it at this juncture was unfortunate to say the least. Not for the first time Cassandra felt the tug of her conscience, of the conflict that had only grown more acute in the last few years between the vows she had sworn to the Seekers of Truth, and the promise of service she had given  to Divine Justinia as her Right Hand. Neither could be set aside, both bound her until death.

“But… if he was Tranquil, surely he could not become possessed?” she ventured, trying to steer the Lord Seeker away from asking her direct questions about her prior knowledge of the research. While some part of her brain knew it was a fragile distinction at best, she had always felt justified in not revealing everything about the duties she undertook for Divine Justinia to the Seekers, but she had always striven to avoid direct untruths. Although she had in actuality known little of the progress of the work, and the possible fate of the Tranquil Pharamond was not something that had been shared with her. “Unless he had actually succeeded in reversing his Tranquility?”

“Such questions were at the heart of my concern, Cassandra,” Lambert nodded. “If the Rite was somehow unreliable, or if it could be reversed, leaving the mage once more vulnerable to possession – the implications are most disturbing.”

Cassandra’s thoughts whirled in troubling circles as the Lord Seeker described how the Divine had dispatched Archmage Wynne to Adamant Fortress to investigate the fate of the researcher, accompanied by two of the White Spire mages and a templar, and the discovery that Pharamond had indeed succeeded in reversing his state of Tranquility but only at the cost of submitting to demonic possession which had resulted in the deaths of everyone else in the Fortress. When he went on to reveal that the Archmage had chosen to reveal the outcome of the research to all the other Circles of Magi as well as the Divine, she almost found herself sharing his anger. Such uncontrolled disclosure, everything she had feared and counselled against, was reckless in the extreme, and she wondered whether it had been at Divine Justinia’s instruction or the Archmage’s own initiative that she had taken such drastic measures. Regardless, the damage was now done. Cassandra decided it wiser to say nothing, to let the Lord Seeker vent his temper for a moment, while she tried to sort through her own feelings.

“As I’m sure you can imagine,” Lambert finally ceased his imprecations against the Divine and the Archmage long enough to continue his account, “the news stirred up all the usual malcontents amongst the Libertarians. Again going against my better judgement, Most Holy allowed the First Enchanters to hold conclave at the White Spire to discuss the implications of the research, but certain elements among the mages hijacked the occasion to vote on independence from the Circles. When I, along with other Seekers and Templars, attempted to restore order, the mages regrettably resorted to violence. Worse still, the efforts of our order to capture and restrain the rebel mages were then undermined by the Divine herself. Most Holy summoned me, along with many of my senior officers, to a meeting on what turned out to be the most trivial of matters, but in our absence one of Justinia’s agents went to the White Spire to help the mages escape and destroy their phylacteries. Many Templars were killed in the subsequent fighting.”

Cassandra let out a gusting breath as she considered this. What on earth had Justinia been thinking to allow herself to be implicated in this way? Lord Seeker Lambert had been against her attempts at reform from the start, but was constrained by being unable to seem to act openly against the Divine. If Justinia had shown her hand, it gave him all the ammunition he needed to move against her more overtly.  Although she was reassured that the Divine was safe, in every other respect the situation was far worse than she had feared. And the agent Lambert mentioned… surely it could not have been Leliana herself?

“What became of the mages?” Cassandra asked, trying not to let any undue anxiety or eagerness show. Duty and propriety and the expectations of their respective positions had long since contrived to force her and Galyan apart, but the lingering care and affection she felt for him would never be extinguished, and they still corresponded on a somewhat frequent basis. The thought of him in danger was unpleasant enough, the possibility that he could have been injured, or worse killed, at the hands of her own order was not something she wished to contemplate.

Lambert’s mouth quirked knowingly. “Some were slain or badly injured, but many fled. Unfortunately the recently elected Grand Enchanter is among them, it would have been a lot easier for everyone had she not been among those who escaped. Some may have taken refuge at other circles, but we do not yet know where the bulk of them have gone. I have dispatched some Seekers to try to track them, but they have yet to report back.” He sat back, staring steadily at Cassandra, who forced herself to remain calm under his searching gaze, briefly dragged back to the memory of a humiliating encounter in this very office, and a single, peremptory command  - ‘ _End it’_.  “Was there anyone in particular you were concerned about?”

“No, Lord Seeker,” Cassandra looked at the floor, absorbed in the way the light reflected off Lambert’s plate boots.

“Cassandra,” the Lord Seeker regarded her steadily, his gaze hard and flinty. “I will not lie, I was disappointed when Justinia chose to retain you as her Right Hand for I had hoped that you would return fully to your brothers and sisters in the Order. You have always been one of the best and brightest of us, and you have never yet given me cause to doubt your loyalty, even though Most Holy has continued to keep you from your sacred duties to the Seekers of Truth.” He absent-mindedly brushed non-existent specks of dirt from his gleaming vambraces as he spoke. “I know that you are sworn to Most Holy’s service, but I would ask that you consider the good of the Chantry as well as your oaths as a Seeker. We stand at the precipice of a great disaster that could undo centuries of righteousness and unleash forces we cannot hope to control. We must act now to restore order, to bring the mages back to heel before it is too late. I hope I can count on you to do what is right.”

“I serve the Most Holy,” Cassandra replied steadily, “as do you, Lord Seeker. Surely our purpose is one and the same?”

Like a striking cobra, Lambert abruptly slammed his hands on the edge of the desk, rising to his feet and leaning forward aggressively. “Is it? Then why does Justinia seek to keep me from my appointed duty? Why does she frustrate and hinder me at every turn? Why does she conspire against me and send agents to give succour to our enemies?”

“Our _enemies_ , Lord Seeker?” Cassandra raised an eyebrow. “When did the mages become our enemies and not our charges? The Seekers of Truth are supposed to oversee both the mages and the Templars, not to act as an extension of the Templar order.”

Lambert’s eyes narrowed. “Do not presume to tell _me_ my duty, Cassandra. I would consider your words and your actions very carefully if I were you. Very soon you may be called upon to decide where you stand, and you would do well not to find yourself on the wrong side. You may have Most Holy’s favour, but you are still a Seeker of Truth, and still bound by your vows to our order. She cannot protect you if I find you negligent in your duties.”

Rage threatened to bubble up within her and twist her tongue, wayward at the best of times, and Cassandra held it at bay with an effort of will. “What exactly are you asking of me, Lord Seeker?”

“Help me to bring Most Holy around to our way of thinking, to see that we have been far too lax with the mages and that we _must_ act now before the chance is lost. The Seekers will lead the way, we will be seen to be firm in restoring order, and in turn that will gain the support of the people. When the mages realise they have no allies, they will fall back into line or be crushed.”

Cassandra regarded her superior thoughtfully, taking a moment to compose her response. This moment had been coming for a long time now, she had dreaded it, anticipated it, thought herself prepared to meet it, but she had been wrong. How did you prepare to choose between the duty that had defined almost all of your life and the person who you respected above all others in this world? Her overriding loyalty was to the Maker after all, but His voice, His wisdom, was interpreted through the mouths of his earthly representatives, and both Divine Justinia and the Lord Seeker claimed their vision of His will was the correct one.

_You must always act in accordance with the laws of the Maker. That sounds simple enough, but there will be times when you will be caught between two paths, where both seem to bear the footprints of the Maker. How do you judge which path is correct?_

Again she heard his voice in her head, long extinguished, the mentor she still missed every day.

_I shall consider what the Maker says I must do, or must not do. Then I will consider what the Maker says I should do, or should not. I shall put aside all anger, all fear, all sadness, all pride, all envy, for all can deceive and hide the true path from me. If I am still undecided, I will consider what my heart tells me is right, for if I have walked at the Maker’s side, He will not lead me astray.”_

“The Maker shall guide me, Lord Seeker. I must speak with Most Holy and understand her actions. If Most Holy is indeed leading us astray, then I will act, but I will not swear myself to an unjustified crusade against mages.”

For a long moment Cassandra thought Lambert would rage against her, his knuckles white where he still gripped the edge of his desk, that unholy light burning coldly behind his eyes, but with a heavy sigh he dropped back into his chair, his brow furrowing more with puzzlement than anger.

“Very well, but mark well my words, and what I have asked of you,” he said finally, his tone as close to gentleness as Cassandra could ever recall, but always with the undercurrent of steel behind it. “Maker take you if you fail me in this.”

Cassandra merely nodded, not trusting herself to speak.

 

. . . . . . . . . .

It was late afternoon when Cassandra finally reached the gates of the Grand Cathedral precinct, three days hard riding from Montsimmard with the minimum of halts for food and water. Dismounting, she gave over her exhausted mount to the care of the stablemaster and strode firmly in the direction of the barracks where she kept her spartan quarters.  As the Right Hand, she had been allocated a more luxurious suite in the main palace where the Divine herself resided, but she rarely used it other than to receive official visitors, preferring the almost monastic simplicity of the Templar barracks. The ostentatious décor of the main residential wing reminded her far too much of the stifling grandeur of the various Pentaghast residences in Nevarra City, of a life she had long since fled and done her utmost to renounce.

Shrugging off her mud-stained travelling cloak, she collapsed gratefully onto her narrow cot, staring blankly at the stone ceiling for a long moment. She had hoped the journey back to the capital would have calmed her troubled thoughts, but they still spun in all directions, flying from her grasp like songbirds from a suddenly opened cage. She was desperately tired, but sleep promised to be elusive despite her fatigue.

She had known that this day would come eventually, even if she had not consciously considered it at the time, the knowledge had always been there in the back of her mind right from the day she had read the letter from Leliana and truly understood what Divine Justinia would require of her. She had never doubted the righteousness of her actions, had always been comfortable with the distinctions between the letter and the spirit of the laws she had sworn to uphold, between what was correct, and what was right.

That didn’t lessen her anger. Her conversation with the Lord Seeker and his revelations about the Divine’s involvement in the uprising at the White Spire had convinced her that her absence had been deliberately engineered, either by Justinia herself or Leliana, and every mile she had ridden back, every minute she could not demand an explanation, had only stoked her rage to boiling point. Cassandra did not trust easily, but when she did place her trust in someone she trusted them absolutely and expected the same in return. She had rarely been proven wrong, she had trusted Byron all those years ago when she had found him abducting Avexis in the middle of the night, she had trusted Galyan despite the memory of Anthony’s death that had played over and over in her head, reminding her of what mages were capable of. She had trusted Justinia when she said she would remake the Chantry and turn it back to its original purpose, that mages would be protected instead of imprisoned, that the poor would not go hungry while the Divine and the Grand Clerics had new ceremonial robes made at a cost that could feed a small town for a month. She had trusted her, and had set her own feet on the path that would slowly and inexorably take her away from those she had called brother and sister, those who had raised her, fed her and succoured her, trained her and shaped her into a Seeker fit to serve the Maker. Now she could only follow that path to its end and see where it would take her, but she would not walk it blindly.

Rising from her cot, she quickly changed out of her travelling clothes and into light armour, setting off in the direction of the practice yard where the Templar recruits trained. The commander of the Templar garrison in the cathedral was always happy to have her spar with the apprentice Templars, saying it did some good to have her put the fear of the Maker into those tempted to slack in their training, and in return she got to burn away some of her frustration. She needed to talk to the Divine, but she knew that right now she was far too angry and liable to say things she would regret later. A wry smile tugged at her lips as she strolled briskly across the inner courtyard, remembering Byron’s many attempts to teach her to control her temper. Perhaps she hadn’t got much better at reining in her ire, but at least she could recognise when she was compromised by her anger and choose to avoid confrontation. _Seeker, know thyself._

 

. . . . . . . . . .

 

Cassandra had lost track of how much time had passed as she knelt in the small chapel, running through the Seeker meditations she had been taught all those years ago, calming her racing thoughts and dampening down the ire that pressed against the edges of her self-control, seeking the slightest weakness that would allow it to escape with full force. Even her vigorous workout earlier had not helped, and in the end she had been forced to call a halt before she permanently incapacitated some hapless Templar trainee. They did not deserve to be hurt because she could not subdue her unruly temper. Her anger was something she always had to work to control, a double-edged blade that both helped and hindered, but here and now, she could not afford to allow it to rule her. She needed poise and focus, not rage.

She had not heard the door open, but she felt the small disturbance in the air and saw the candle before her flicker briefly. There were no sounds of footsteps, which told her straight away who the interloper was.

“Leliana,” she greeted her fellow Hand flatly, as the former bard came into her peripheral vision, her auburn hair standing out against the dark cloak she wore.

Cassandra closed her eyes for a moment, trying to hold onto the threads of peace she had managed to gather about herself, however transiently. She and Leliana disagreed on many things, but she did not doubt the Left Hand’s devotion to the Maker and to the Divine, and she would happily have trusted her with her own life, a company that was very select indeed. Yet while she was quite aware and secure in the knowledge that Leliana knew things that she did not, that her work for Justinia took her to places she herself could not go, it was one thing to be left in the dark and a quite different one to feel she had been deliberately misled and sent on a fool’s errand while the Divine, her charge, had been placed in danger.

“Cassandra, I heard you had returned,“ Leliana’s tone was careful, a definite edge audible. “I also heard that instead of giving a report to Most Holy, the first thing you did was to go to the Templar barracks to do some sparring and leave a dozen Templar recruits battered and bruised, so I assume you’re angry about something.”

“I… I did not consider myself in the correct state of mind to speak with Her Perfection.”

Leliana’s gaze was far too knowing for Cassandra’s liking, and swift as a hawk the rage she had spent so long suppressing erupted. “You knew!” she hissed, rising from her knees in a single swift movement that took her almost eye to eye with the shorter Left Hand. “You knew, and you let her send me away. Do you have any idea how I would have felt if anything had happened to her?”

“Yes.” The admission was made simply and frankly. “I knew what Justinia intended, and I advised her to keep you as far away as possible, but do not _ever_ accuse me of putting Most Holy in danger. You of all people should know I would _never_ let any harm come to her.”

Cassandra let out her breath, and with it her rising frustration. Arguing with Leliana rarely got her anywhere, the Left Hand wielded words with as much skill as dagger or bow, whereas her own oratory was a crude weapon, as like to alienate as to persuade. As she struggled to get herself back under control she realised Leliana was studying her thoughtfully, her expression somewhat softened.

“Be at peace, Cassandra. It was not lack of trust that made her send you from her side. Most Holy knows that you are steadfast and true, and I’m sure she will explain her actions to your satisfaction. Oh… and before I forget, I have something for you.” Leliana reached into her cloak and withdrew a small cylinder of paper, tied with a dark green ribbon.  “I received your message from Montsimmard, and this came in reply yesterday. He is safe, for now.”

Cassandra took the paper, the warmth of relief suffusing her. Only one man had always tied his letters to her with a green ribbon, a little gesture that once had indicated the missive was best read with the benefit of privacy, but over time had become no more than a familiar habit. For all that those days were long past, still the sight lifted part of the weight that had sat upon her heart. She tucked it safely into the pocket of her tunic to read later, grateful beyond words that there would not be yet another she had failed to protect.

“I… I apologise, Leliana,” she eventually replied, her contrition genuine. “I know you would never do anything to place Most Holy in danger. It was just… I heard all these stories about what was happening, and being so far away, unable to do anything - I do not like to be powerless.”

The Left Hand’s face softened further, sapphire eyes showing understanding. “I know. That was why we had to keep you away, because you would not allow anything to keep you from your duty to protect her.”

Shame settled on her like a stifling blanket, extinguishing the righteous rage that was still keeping her upright despite her exhaustion, fatigue and aching muscles making their presence felt. “I should sleep, my journey was long and tiring. Please let Her Perfection know that I would speak with her in the morning.”

“I will,” Leliana’s gaze travelled over her face slowly. “You do look tired. Rest well Cassandra.”

 

. . . . . . . . . .

 

“Cassandra, I am glad you have returned safely,” Divine Justinia V smiled warmly, waiting patiently while an aide poured them tea and left, slippered feet soundless on the thick rugs that carpeted her private reception rooms.

“Thank you Most Holy, I am pleased to see you are well. I heard such things on the road.”

Justinia, ever an accomplished player of the Game, gave no reaction, sipping at her steaming tea from a delicate porcelain cup adorned with the sunburst of the Chantry. “I’m sure whatever you heard was exaggerated, you know how such tales spread.”

Cassandra raised an eyebrow pointedly, sampling her own beverage. The tea was delicious, delicately flavoured with sage and mint, and she wondered idly if the Divine had chosen the blend specifically to placate her. Justinia shared Leliana’s attention to detail in such minute matters and it would certainly not surprise her to find out she had staff devoted to finding out the mood of her guests and choosing the appropriate tea to best suit her purpose. But perhaps she was being unduly paranoid. She raised her cup again, the steam curling slowly into her nostrils and bringing with it the soothing scent.

“The Lord Seeker certainly gave an interesting account of what transpired at the White Spire,” she replied, striving to keep her voice level and not let the still present hurt seep into it.

Justinia laughed softly. “I’m sure he did. Tell me, did he have steam coming out of his ears?”

Cassandra put her cup down more sharply than she had intended, liquid sloshing over the rim into the saucer. “Was it all true then, what he told me? That you informed all the Circles of Magi about the possibility of reversing the Rite of Tranquility, and that when the mages held conclave you and Leliana hindered the Lord Seeker and the Templars so that the mages could escape?”

“Yes, it is true. I’m sure Lambert embroidered his account a little, but that is the essence of it.” The Divine folded her hands on her lap, fingers toying idly with her gold ring of office. “I had no choice but to act, Cassandra. Had I not intervened, Lambert would have ensured that the Seekers covered up the truth about the Rite. Ever since Kirkwall the mages have felt little other than the slowly tightening noose around their necks, with yet more restrictions imposed upon them, treating them all as sinners for the crimes of a few. I had to show them that there is still hope, that the Chantry can still protect their interests.”

“But at what cost? The Lord Seeker was merely suspicious before, but now he knows that you are working against him. The mages are in open rebellion, some already fled. How long before the remaining Circles fall?” Cassandra got up from her chair, pacing restlessly to the window that looked out over the cathedral gardens. “You have made an enemy of the Lord Seeker, perhaps if I had been here, I could have prevented that.”

There were soft footfalls and the quiet swish of robes, then Justinia stood beside her, gazing out to the imposing tower of the White Spire that stood beyond the gardens. “Why do you think I sent you away, Cassandra? If you had been here and Lambert even suspected you knew of my intentions, he would have had you sent to the Sea of Ash. You are my Right Hand, but even I cannot protect you from the Lord Seeker while you are still tied by your vows to your order.”

Cassandra frowned, mulling over the Divine’s words, something about the phrasing bothering her. The burn of anger in her gut was somewhat diminished, replaced by the restless ache of frustration. She had never liked being protected or having others make her decisions for her, but she had to concede that Justinia was likely correct in her assessment. If she had been discovered in Leliana’s place, there was no doubt in her mind that the Lord Seeker’s retribution would have been swift and savage. Lambert van Reeves did not tolerate failure or betrayal.

“Then I am of little further use to you,” she sighed finally. “The Lord Seeker has already given me an ultimatum. If I cannot act without incurring his wrath-“

“Patience, the Maker will provide.” Justinia took one final glance over the gardens, then returned to her chair, taking another sip of tea as calmly as if they were discussing the weather. “Lambert has been subtle in his opposition to my reforms, but now he will have little choice but to show his hand. When he himself betrays his allegiance to the Chantry, he will have no hold over you or your fellow Seekers.”

Cassandra shivered despite the warmth of the room, moving back to her seat to be closer to the fire. “You really believe that the Lord Seeker would act openly against you?”

“Oh, I know he will. Lambert believes he hides his intentions from me, but he is not as clever as he thinks. It is not for the likes of him to throw down a Divine.”

Cassandra frowned, concerned at exactly what the Divine was implying. “But the Lord Seeker is a most pious man, he would not-“

“That is what I am afraid of, Cassandra,” Justinia’s gaze was sad and knowing. “He is so secure in his piety, so sure that he knows his duty and that he is doing the Maker’s work, and it blinds him to all else, to dignity, to compassion, to justice, even to reason. Lambert is not just pious, but he is also proud, and that combination makes him dangerous.”

The Lord Seeker… plotting to overthrow the Divine? The very idea seemed ridiculous, and yet Cassandra could not help but think of another conspiracy, of a Knight-Vigilant who had planned to install his own lover into the position. She rubbed her temples slowly, the beginnings of a headache manifesting as a dull throb behind her eyes. Was no one to be trusted, no one to be admired and looked up to? It was all so depressingly familiar.

“Cassandra,” Justinia’s hand was warm on her knee, a comforting touch that meant more than she would have been able to express. “I know what the Seekers mean to you, and how difficult this is. Know that you have always been a true Seeker in the eyes of the Maker and in mine, and that though you may be called on to renounce everything you have held dear, the betrayal is not yours, nor are the Lord Seeker’s failings your own. The Maker is testing all of us, but we will endure.”

“Thank you Most Holy, I will think on your words.” Cassandra looked down at her feet for a moment, swallowing, her throat thick with an emotion she could not name. It was a while before she could trust herself to speak, but Justinia waited patiently. “So what do we do now, surely you do not intend us just to wait for the Lord Seeker to take action? And what of the mages? There will be chaos if more Circles rise up as news spreads of the events here.”

“You are right, we will not just wait powerlessly. I had hoped to avoid it coming to this, but I fear I have little choice now.” Justinia rang a small bell to summon a servant, instructing her to fetch the Left Hand, then went over to her desk, unlocking a drawer and withdrawing a bulky tome, the symbol of the Chantry embossed on the front. “You recognise this, I’m sure?”

Cassandra nodded, looking up at the sound of footsteps as Leliana made her way into the room, taking the other seat before the Divine’s desk. Justinia looked from one to the other, a faint smile on her lips, fingers tracing the metal sunburst on the book’s cover.

“I have a task for you, my Hands, which I cannot entrust to anyone else. Tell me, what do you know of the Inquisition of old?”

Cassandra dredged up memories from her Seeker training, hours spent in the library at Montsimmard with dusty books of ancient Chantry history. “The Inquisition were the predecessors of the Seekers of Truth, back at the Chantry’s foundation. They performed similar functions to the Seekers and to the Templars, protecting the people from rogue mages.”

The Divine steepled her hands together and rested her chin on them for a moment, looking from Cassandra to Leliana in turn. “Perhaps the time has come to build a new Inquisition, to help the Chantry to see how it has strayed from the tenets upon which it was founded. If I cannot bring reform from within without my own Templars and Seekers working against me, perhaps the way to do so is a challenge from without.”

Cassandra swallowed, light-headed, as the Divine went on, and the full scope and daring of her plan became clear.

 

. . . . . . . . . .

 

_“I trained you to follow orders.”_

There had been no sleep for her that night, the voices in her head not allowing her any respite from their incessant torment. Cassandra was not immune to doubt, in herself, in those she was called upon to follow, but she had never doubted her purpose, never doubted that she was guided by the Maker’s hand. She had been trained to believe that the Seekers of Truth were performing the Maker’s work, protecting His servants, ensuring that magic was kept in check and could never again lead man to despoil the Maker’s works. Yet that which Divine Justinia would ask of her would set her against the order she had sworn to serve until death.

Cassandra stared into the flickering flame of the sole candle that burned within the chapel, a ritual she had performed thousands of times, intended to cast out destructive emotions and make her an empty vessel for the Maker’s will. Yet perhaps it was not emotions that haunted her tonight, but ghosts, memories.

 “Byron,” she flinched momentarily at the echo of her voice in the quiet, empty space, not realising at first she had spoken out loud. “What would you have done? If ever I have needed your guidance, it is now.”

  _“To see the truth you must look with the eyes of your heart, not just the ones in your head. Not everything is what it appears on the surface.”_

The eyes of her heart… she had never quite understood his meaning at the time, had barely had time to consider it before they were swallowed up in treachery and danger. After, it had been too late to ask him to explain. The voice that had spoken those words to her had been silenced forever.

The eyes of her heart had seen so many wrongs covered up, seen the righteous suffer at the hands of the wicked, had watched the lust for power corrupt the purest of intentions. She had watched as the checks and balances that were supposed to prevent abuses were circumvented, all the while as lip service was paid to the words of the Maker. There had always been explanations, justifications, excuses, but the eyes of her heart saw past that to what lay beneath.

_“Blessed are they who stand before the corrupt and the wicked and do not falter. Blessed are the peacekeepers, the champions of the just. Blessed are the righteous, the lights in the shadow. In their blood the Maker's will is written.”_

Was this her calling now, not to falter, to be the light in the shadow?

_“Trust in the Maker.”_

The long-lost voice, once so dear to her, whispered again in her head, and Cassandra’s misgivings melted away like snow beneath spring sunshine, leaving behind only a fierce determination and resolve. She girded herself with it as she would her armour, leaving no chinks where doubt or dismay could penetrate. She would do whatever it took to help the Divine set things right, to improve the Circles of Magi and bring the Templars back to their original purpose as protectors, whatever the cost, and whatever ties it forced her to break.

**Author's Note:**

> This story was inspired when I read Asunder and wondered what Cassandra was doing while the events of the book took place, as it seemed unlikely given her role as the Divine's Right Hand and also as a Seeker of Truth that she would not have been involved in some way. I speculated that perhaps given her ties to the Seekers Justinia might have deliberately engineered her absence, and wanted to explore how this would affect her and her divided loyalties.


End file.
